#6: Let Me Take You to Northern India: In Which I Travel Alone to Delhi, Jaipur and Agra and Have Grand Adventures, Both Expected and Surprising

Highlights of My Week: I massaged an elephant, a camel, residents at a Mother Teresa House, and an Ayurvedic massage therapist, all in one day; Babu, my slightly eccentric auto rickshaw driver in Jaipur; Taj Mahal; Gandhi Smriti museum in Delhi; and a frog just startled me when it leapt out of the flushing latrine. Oh, India, I will miss you so.

And Then There Was One Month. It is Monday evening, May 16, and I have exactly one month left before I go back to Cali. That’s mostly a sad realization right now. I am back in my tranquil village of Thottanaval in Southern India, having spent 8 wonderful days last week in North India in Delhi, Jaipur and Agra. Originally I was going to travel with a volunteer friend but she went home early and I kept my travel plans, feeling quite confident to travel solo and anxious to taste another side of India. I had some hairy overnight train rides between cities, with schedules like 11 pm to 3 am or 3 am to 8 am on the trains. Rather than get a hotel for a measly few hours on those nights, I preferred to sleep in the train stations and not worry about hiring taxis in the middle of the night. I planned my schedule like this to maximize my daytime tourist time, and I’m pleased it worked out. I felt quite safe, though physically uncomfortable sleeping on benches, using atrocious bathrooms and mosquitoes feasting on my flesh. I figured it was all good for me and increased my appreciation for my regular comforts—kind of like camping, which I also miss.

Gandhi. A few weeks ago I started reading Gandhi’s autobiography, which has been enlightening not just about India’s path to independence, but offers insights to a great individual’s search for truth. In a vague sense I knew I admired the man, but now I know definitely why—he was a genuinely humble man, deeply devoted to truth, who practiced what he preached. It was the power of his purity that enabled him to be the Father of India. For example, he was absolutely honest, he advocated simplicity in living, he didn’t take comforts for himself that others couldn’t have, and he didn’t ask anyone to do anything that he wasn’t doing, such as cleaning latrines or fasting. His teachings of ahimsa or non-violence appeal to me, but Gandhi was more austere in many of his actions than I think will be necessary or wise for most people. Reading about him has made more obvious to me many of my own weaknesses, how I hold back from God in mistrust and pride, being soft in some ways of my devotion. Perhaps I’m unfair in comparing myself to Gandhi. We are different people, from different times and cultures. And yet, in searching my own heart, I know more corners I can refine.

Best of DELHI: I spent five days in Delhi and was able to see a lot and spend enough time at most of the places I really wanted to (though I only had 30 min. at the modern art gallery, which was a bummer, but that was my fault for taking too long at the Gandhi museum). My hosts (Ravi, a semi-retired professor whom I met in Australia last summer at the int’l peace conference, and his family) were also very helpful and kind. They graciously took me out to dinner or fed me at their house most nights I was there, answering my myriad questions about food, politics, love, language, religion, transportation, and education. His son and daughter-in-law are 20-somethings and got married last December in a love marriage (not arranged). Deepti’s parents were opposed to the union but Deepti told them she would never marry if they wouldn’t accept Rahul. Finally they consented and are happy with their new son-in-law. My last day in Delhi, I gave Ravi and his wife their first seated massages and it was so fun to see their reactions. Ravi especially seemed delighted, laughing and saying, “I feel like embracing you.” He’s a good man and I will stay in touch with this family for a good long while, I hope.

Religion. I learned lots about Indian history and religions, and in the past week I visited six different religious places of worship that I can think of: Christian (LDS and Catholic), Hindu, Jain, Sikh, Bahai, and Muslim, plus the Tibetan Buddhist museum in Delhi. Most of these worship places are strikingly different from that of my own (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), but among all of them I found important similarities and positive contributions as well. In each of these faiths, I believe most people are doing the best they know how. All of these faiths have charitable outlets for India’s many poor, funded by the donations of believers and visitors, who also can be very poor. What impressed me most about some of these faiths as I learned more was their ease in worshiping together, sharing many of the same saints and gods, and their expressed commitment to peace. The ornate Sikh and Jain temples give a sweet porridge-type food to everyone who visits, as a “gift from the gods,” one devotee told me. At one temple I visited, they made sure to send me off with an apple. Jains will not kill any living organism, and a traditional Jain wears a covering on his mouth so he doesn’t even breathe in a bug, accidentally killing it. Bahais welcome all faiths and religions to worship together, and they put their faith in action by creating a number of social programs around the world to benefit people. The Bahai Lotus Temple is a lovely place to pray and meditate.

An American Near Pakistan. Predominantly Hindu India has a long, rocky relationship with Islamic Pakistan, and I wondered how I would be received in Northern India (half a days’ train from Pakistan) as an American when Osama bin Laden was dramatically assassinated just two days before I flew to Delhi. Osama-Obama, Pak, India, and the U.S. were the hottest news around. People frequently asked me, ”What is your country?” and enthusiastically replied how great the U.S. is, some asking if I was also glad Osama was dead (obviously these were native Indians, not Pakistanis). Without being a lukewarm patriot, I think his death is probably a good thing. I do want terrorism to cease and hope this is a fresh start, but there are at least two sides to every story and, ironically, there are God-fearing people on every side of most conflicts, feeling absolutely justified in their actions against each other. This topic could be a whole post of its own and I have a related poem in the works, but let me suffice it to say that I thankfully felt safe and well-received in my travels.

Frustrations and an Embarrassment. Though I felt safe moving throughout Northern India, I was not without my frustrations—language misunderstandings leading me to the wrong locations, annoyances from people constantly wanting to charge too much, men showering me with unwanted attention (my male peers in the U.S. could learn something from foreigners!), and blisters upon blisters on my feet, not to mention my left ankle paining me greatly from time to time and randomly giving out on me (old injury). At a Sikh temple I visited one night, I had an embarrassing moment when I followed people outside to a large pool where people stood on a ledge at the water’s edge, splashing their faces with their feet just touching the water. A little girl next to me dipped her feet in the water with large coy fish surfacing, and I did the same. Suddenly, a woman to my side turned angrily to me, chastising me. “Why are you putting your feet in our holy water? Can’t you see we are drinking it?” It seemed incredibly ironic to me, when I had taken care to remove my sandals and wash my feet and hands, covering my head upon entering the temple, and yet I still committed a grave offense. Such were my challenges, some humorous at least after the fact, if not in the moment. The question lingers of how to respond to beggars, which I wrote about in my last letter.

One of my favorite things in Delhi was the walking tour I took through the grungy Paharganj neighborhood one morning with former street kids from Salaam Balaak Trust (translated means “Saluting the Child”). My Australian companion and I followed two young men who explained how most of the street kids settle there and how they survive, usually pickpocketing, recycling trash, or prostitution. They showed us where the kids can take bottles to be recycled, and other interesting places in the neighborhood such as a Contact Point (where street kids can come and go during the day as they please and receive health care, counseling and purposeful activities) and a Safe House, where they are gated in with a secure place to stay, attend school, and have occasional outing privileges. Many of the vulnerable youth prefer the freedom on the streets, but they are encouraged to go to Safe Houses.

The boys also shared their personal stories with us, which are sad and remarkable. Many run away because they are beat at home and/or forced to work hard labor, but some are separated from their parents at gigantic religious festivals and have no contact info to relocate them. The latter was the case with one of our guides, 16-year-old Ajay. At 6 years old he lost his parents at the Hindu Ganesh festival, and the police sent the little lost boy to a children’s home. He ran away a while later and for the next few years slept in train stations, joining a boys’ gang where he learned to pick pockets and do drugs. Ajay made his way to Delhi, where he found Salaam Balaak Trust and felt inspired by a mentor speaking about possible jobs driving trains. Ajay now has a dream to be a train driver and a reason to go to school. He gave up drugs, loves studying business commerce, speaking English, and proudly recited all sorts of facts about the U.S. to me. He has recently gotten in touch with his family, but remains in Delhi because the opportunities are better there. I highly recommend taking this walking tour for anyone visiting Delhi.

More Name Humor. A man asked me, “What’s your good name?” (that’s the phrase they use in Northern India). When I said, "April," he repeated back incredulously, "Eyebrow?" pointing to his face. An attendant at a pre-paid taxi stand wrote my name, "Apo,” and at the Delhi University Guest House where I was staying for way too much money, they wrote on my mailbox, "Dr. A. Murdouk." At first glance I thought, "That looks a lot like my name. How strange." Then I did a double-take and realized it was my room, and that was my name! They had asked for my university department when I was checking in and I wanted to write, “Peace” but I left it blank. Little did they know, I’m not actually with the university. I had connections through Ravi.

Transportation. In India I have traveled by foot, train (2nd, 3rd, and Sleeper class), plane, bus, metro, autorickshaw, bicycle, bike rickshaw, motorcycle, elephant, and camel. I am only lacking boat and maybe hang-gliding for transportation. I'm pretty stubborn and prefer to walk where I can—“going green” and I get the benefits of exercise without having to deal with price negotiations because the drivers always want to charge me way too much every time (I found it works to walk a ways even if I do want a rickshaw, because the persistent ones lower their price the farther I walk away). One of my favorite memories in Delhi was when a bicycle rickshaw boy really wanted to give me a ride to the place where Gandhi was martyred, and finally I consented when he agreed to let ME ride the bike with him sitting in back. We did like this for a while until the road was too crazy and he took over. Fun times! This happened again at the Taj Mahal in Agra when I somehow missed the entrance (so silly) and walked along a fairly quiet road for a while until I was almost to the "Baby Taj" so I hired a bicycle rickshaw to take me back. I just don't feel right to have someone else pedal me, especially not a wiry little old man. When I asked if I could drive, he agreed right away. It's so fun to see others' amusement and encouragement when we pass them---a white Western woman pedaling an old Indian man. I revel in the role reversal and it makes the ride so much more memorable.

JAIPUR, City of Unexpected Delights and Flattering Men: As I was accosted by autorickshaw drivers coming out of the train station in Jaipur, one kept lowering his price until he offered to take me to my destination for free. This was a first for me and I was really skeptical because nobody does that, plus I knew I was close to the internet cafe I wanted, but my feet were crying and I did want to ride the rickshaw to quiet them. Finally I consented and while we were driving he said, "What part of the world is suffering without you now?" Oh, wow. I laughed, and said, "None." "And what shall I call you?" "Madam," was my reply. I have a feeling he had a lot more pick-up lines in store, but our ride was short and I didn’t want to encourage him...

Babu was one of my highlights of Jaipur. I met him when I was walking down the street trying to figure out which bus to take to see Missionaries of Charity. I knew nothing about the organization except the street name and it sounded like my kind of thing. Most people I stopped to ask for directions didn't speak very good English and were not very helpful, even with my map. After a few more minutes walking, I passed a man who out of the blue asked, "Are you a volunteer with Mother Teresa?" [Huh?] I told him no, Mother Teresa is deceased, but I am a volunteer elsewhere. Babu said I look like a Mother Teresa volunteer he had met. "Well, do you know where is Missionaries of Charity?" I asked him and he said, "Yes, yes, that is Mother Teresa House! Come, I will take you. You have service in your eyes." Turns out he was a rickshaw driver, and he wanted to take me for free, as it was "good karma." He asked my good name and shook my hand firmly and lingered there, closing his eyes and taking in my positive energy, then touching his third-eye chakra and mouth almost in a ritual. "I got power from you—good karma. You are like good person, energy person. I do this for you." Bewildered, I said okay and let him take me to my destination.

Babu, a Hindu, stopped along the way to buy two yellow carnation wreaths—one for his god, and one for me. He volunteers on Saturdays at Mother Teresa House, bringing lunch for the residents there who are all Hindu adults with mental disabilities and some physical disabilities, whose families have rejected them. When I walked into the compound, there were a number of men sitting around and several greeted me hands in prayer position saying "Namaste," and then we sat in the waiting room for a while for a sister who was supposed to take me on a grounds tour but never came. Finally a man told me to go upstairs and find her. I never did find her, but the women residents were hanging their laundry on the rooftop clotheslines, so I joined them. They didn't speak English and I didn't speak Hindi, but I tell you, one of my main love languages is service. I was so pleased to find this place in a foreign city where I could find an opportunity to do some unexpected service right in the moment. I felt real joy hanging clothes with these women, most who seemed tickled that I was there (not the one who had a very sullen demeanor. I wish I knew her story). Then I started talking to some workers and gave a couple of seated massages to some residents, who were so delighted. Again, I felt real peace. Then I met the assistant head sister, Sister Adeline, from Calcutta. She received the call from God to be a nun and trained with Mother Teresa, then received her assignment to come to Jaipur, where she's been for years. I really liked Sister Adeline. She was accommodating, strong in her faith, and looking out for my welfare. When I told her I'm a Christian too, she asked if I am Catholic or Protestant. I told her I'm neither, but as a Latter-day Saint I believe in the Restoration of the gospel. She sort of chuckled, like that was new and interesting, and she told me of many differences between Catholics and Protestants. I listened and told her, "We have so much in common, actually," of course with some obvious differences. She wasn't interested to listen, okay fine. I still like her. I almost told her I had considered being a Mormon nun, but I held back. I didn’t think she would get it, and I’m past that phase anyway. After helping serve lunch and being served in return, I went back to Babu who was patiently waiting. He offered to be my driver for the day, for free, or I could pay him whatever I wanted at the end if I was happy with his service. His manner was so very different from any other driver I had met, and I really wasn't sure what to make of him. A man working at the mission vouched for Babu's credibility, and off I went with my personal tour guide.

Every time we stopped, Babu would squeeze my hand to recharge, telling me again that I am good energy and he gets power from me. I laughed the first few times because it was comical to me, but I realized he might really be sincere and I don't want to laugh at that. I don't disagree that I have good energy (“praise God,” Dr. Susan would say), but nobody has responded to me like that before. I really didn’t know what to make of him. I’m not impressed with flattery, but I appreciate sincerity and a good tease and Babu seemed to be a mix of the latter two. Besides some of the usual Jaipur sites, Babu took me to some cool places like the Elephant House, where I massaged my first elephant and subsequently took a very short ride bareback on my happy client. An Indian man driving some European volunteer tourists told me I look like a Bollywood star. For real? I laughed because it’s so silly to me, especially in my traveling grimy glory. After the elephants, we stopped so I could massage a camel and go for a little ride. It was a delightful novelty. I was on a roll for firsts this day!

DJ is what I’m calling a suave Jaipur man whose name I never knew. He started talking to me when I was taking pictures of the Hawa Mahal across from his jewelry shop. The conversation was interesting enough, but his flattery made me wary and when he was trying to discourage me visiting various sites in favour of driving up to a lookout point to watch the sun set over Jaipur with him, I had to assertively excuse myself. Later, Babu told me he knows of DJ, who previously has tried to charm a couple of his lady tourist clients with roses and chocolates...

In conclusion to the male attention vignettes, I will just say honestly that traveling in a foreign country in some ways is refreshing to my single womanhood. It reminds me that there are men out there who can be bold and show some interest—even if it is overkill at times. There’s got to be a happy medium between the overseas interest and my compatriots’ apathy. It makes for good stories, at any rate.

I got my first Ayurvedic massage in Jaipur, and it was so different than any I've had before. I will share more for close friends who are interested. Samanya, my therapist, told me she doesn’t like her job because she works up to 12 hours a day and gets tired. No wonder! As a massage therapist myself who still really loves my work—for much fewer hours each day—I was saddened that she’s so overworked. I’ll bet most exhausted people would love their jobs more if they did them less. At the end, I gave Samanya a seated Western-April-style massage while her husband, also an MT, looked on. She was so appreciative and I was so happy to give her something that she can share too! Massage is portable and practical! So in one day, I massaged some women at Mother Teresa's charity house, an elephant, a camel, and an Ayurvedic massage therapist. Life I love.

AGRA, home of the Taj Mahal (and a few other places sitting in the Taj’s shadow). Yes, there are more things to do in Agra than the Taj Mahal, but the Taj eclipses them all. This magnificent building is famous for a reason, and it is really worth seeing. Native Indians pay 50 rupees (about a dollar) to get in, and foreigners must pay a whopping 750 rupees—$15. All of the Indian heritage sites are like this, but max I paid anywhere else was 250 rupees, or about $2.80, with the Indians paying 10 rupees ($.25) most places. I’m still not sure how I feel about the discrepancy, but it makes sense from India’s perspective. The ruler Shah Jahan built the Taj in the 1600s as a memorial for his beloved wife, who died giving birth to their 14th child. He is buried alongside her and the building is amazing at any time of day. In Agra I did see some other things, but this letter is long already and like I said, the Taj is where it's at.

I like conversation. You’ll find me at bodywork4peace@yahoo.com.